


As If He Knew Me

by PFDiva



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Good Omens Prime
Genre: M/M, Mind Meld, Overstimulation, Wing Grooming, Wing Kink, post-apocalypse probably, upped the rating because sexytimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-06-30 13:01:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19853713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PFDiva/pseuds/PFDiva
Summary: Aziraphale disapproves of the condition of Crowley's wings, and then proceeds to do something about it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Killing Me Softly, by the Fugees. The discord knows what they did.

"Crowley, what _happened?_ " Aziraphale yelped as soon as he saw Crowley.

"What?" Crowley looked down at himself in abject confusion, then turned around in a circle to see what he'd knocked over with his wings. Nothing. They weren't even at the bookstore, so he didn't know why he was worried about knocking anything over. It was all his own stuff.

"Oh dear, your _wings_ ," Aziraphale lamented, stopping Crowley from turning back around with a soft hand braced on the demon's back between them.

"They work," Crowley objected, folding his wings close and away from Aziraphale.

"Well, I don't see how," Aziraphale objected, grabbing one and unfolding it for a look, "Seeing as how they're absolutely _encrusted_ with filth."

Crowley sighed to himself because Aziraphale was getting righteous at him. It didn't help that where Aziraphale grabbed, Crowley's wings flaked with dirt. "Angel, I'm a _demon._ A little filth is part and parcel."

Aziraphale forced Crowley's wing aside to glare and he already knew his wings were going to get cleaned. He still objected. "I don't even have supplies for wing-cleaning!"

A snap of Aziraphale's fingers produced a rather large miracle in the middle of Crowley's living room: a cozy chair with a sturdy end table covered in all sizes of brushes, all contained in an empty kiddy pool. There was even a low stool for Crowley to sit on, and an apron to cover Aziraphale's clothing.

Well, there went Crowley's second, third, and fourth objections.

"You're no fun when you get like this," Crowley complained, while Aziraphale determinedly bustled around him to put on the apron and get settled in his seat, making sure the stool was Just The Right Distance Away. Crowley slouched over, throwing himself onto the stool with his back to Aziraphale.

"Angel," he tried one last time, "It's really not necessary!"

"My dear," Aziraphale replied, with the sort of infinite patience that meant he was two complaints from losing his patience, "You have several thousand years of filth on your wings. I am going to clean them, you will let me, and you'll feel better when I'm done."

Crowley rested his elbows on his knees with a mocking grumble, but let his wings spread widely enough for Aziraphale to be able to get the span. He started with a rougher brush at the base of Crowley's wings. It was uncomfortable and a little painful at first, but he could hear the gunk and grossness falling off. More importantly, he could _feel_ it coming off, like long-ignored itches finally getting scratched.

By the time Aziraphale had completed his initial pass, Crowley was limp with relief, and he could almost hear the smug satisfaction radiating off the angel. Any other night, Crowley would have prodded Aziraphale's unangelic pride, but tonight, he let it stand with a pleased sigh.

Then, Aziraphale began untwisting Crowley's feathers. His hands were soft and warm as they touched each and every feather, turning it the right direction, soothing irritations Crowley had forgotten existed until they were gone.

"See how nice your wings look already," Aziraphale boasted. Crowley could only mumble incoherent agreement. He'd never before realized how warm Aziraphale's hands were. That they were soft and large was a given, but feeling those fingers soothing over the newly-sensitive wings was so much. It was a little like absolution and a little like erotica and neither Crowley's body nor his mind bothered about the difference.

After precisely two eternities (each measuring about an hour, for anyone counting), Aziraphale finished untwisting Crowley's wings and reached for a new, softer brush. This time, he started at the bottommost edges of Crowley's wings, brushing away dirt, loosening up anything left.

At the first touch of the brush, Crowley moaned. He didn't mean to do it! It just sort of came out! Aziraphale, bless his head, stopped immediately and tried to lean where he could see Crowley's face without getting up. Crowley emphatically refused to let this happen, pulling his knees up to his chest and burying his face in them.

"Dear? Are you alright?"

" 'M fine," Crowley replied, using every ounce of willpower he owned to avoid _begging_ Aziraphale to continue.

There was a long, dubious silence, then Aziraphale did continue. Crowley chewed on his pants and stopped breathing for a little bit. It didn't help. Especially since it turned out that the spots on his wings closer to Crowley's back were more sensitive. By the end, Crowley was in tears with desire, nevermind the fact that he hadn't decided on any sort of genetalia to express that desire with. He hadn't expected to get aroused enough to need it spending time with Aziraphale! That wasn't usually the sort of thing they got up to! Especially not without warning!

Aziraphale smoothed his hands over Crowley's wings in what had to be an appreciative motion. Crowley was too overstimulated to try figuring out what it meant. Surely Aziraphale wasn't done? They'd only been at this for, what, five hours? There had to be more.

There was.

The last tool Aziraphale decided to use was a small, fine-toothed comb. He used it to comb Every Single One of Crowley's feathers. This involved Aziraphale lifting each feather, holding it in his palm, and combing it from tip to root. Crowley had chewed through his pants and progressed to biting his knees. The sensation just built and built with no peak, no end in sight. Between the soft warmth of Aziraphale's hand and the delicious, almost ticklish tugging of the comb, he was undone.

When Aziraphale finished with that task, he set the comb aside and planted his hands on Crowley's shoulders, "There we go! All done with the back. Now, just turn around, and I'll--Crowley?"

Aziraphale couldn't finish giving his instructions. He was interrupted by Crowley's desperate sob.

"Crowley, are you alright?"

Crowley whined instead of answering. Soft, strong hands planted themselves on Crowley's waist, turning him around on the stool. That wasn't really how it was supposed to work, but for Aziraphale, it did.

Crowley saw Aziraphale's eyes widen with surprise. He could see the angel taking in the flush on Crowley's face, his destroyed pants and bruised knees. He could see Aziraphale putting two and two together, and coming up with four.

Aziraphale fussed over Crowley's pants and knees, pulling his feet to the floor, preventing him from hiding his expression or the sounds he would inevitably make when the angel continued.

Then he watched Aziraphale pick up the rough brush. Aziraphale's gaze met Crowley's. When Crowley proved incapable of understanding the question in Aziraphale's eyes, the angel spoke it aloud.

"Shall I continue, dear?"

Crowley nodded.

The inside of his wings proved more sensitive than the outsides.


	2. Chapter 2

By the time Aziraphale finished cleaning Crowley's wings, he was a limply overwhelmed pile of limbs in his arms. It was, in a word, novel. Crowley was so skilled at temptation and evil-doing that Aziraphale frequently forgot that hedonism was his own vice, rather than Crowley's.

Rather than gently mocking Crowley, Aziraphale held him close and admired his newly-cleaned wings. They were lovely and the pair had known each other so long, Aziraphale had been shocked to realize he hadn't properly seen them since that first meeting so long ago. Oh, he was certain they'd come out for the apocalypse, but who paid attention to such things when the world was ending?

It took less effort than a thought to take off the apron and pull Crowley into his lap. He gently arranged Crowley's wings to drape on the sides of the chair over their heads and around them, creating a dark, intimate space. Crowley, obviously still too overwhelmed to move on his own, obediently shifted where he was put.

Aziraphale put his arms around Crowley's waist, hands gently resting on his back, just barely cupping the undersides of the bases of Crowley's wings, making him shudder just a little, "You didn't know, dear?"

Crowley mumbled into Aziraphale's neck, shaking his head.

"I would have warned you if I'd known."

Another mumble, and Crowley nodded against Aziraphale's neck. Well, at least there was that.

"I'm not sure what to do now," Aziraphale admitted, "This seems like a situation for genetalia and sex and I don't think you're in any position to consent to either."

Crowley mouthed at Aziraphale's neck, kissed the soft spot under his jaw, licked the tender crease where neck and shoulder met. Aziraphale shivered, tipping his head aside to let it happen. Crowley was being provocative on purpose. It was one of his favorite things to do--make Aziraphale think about his own body so that Crowley's would be ignored.

Hedonism was Aziraphale's vice, so it usually worked. It was working now, at least until Aziraphale's fingers unintentionally dug into the base of Crowley's wings, causing the demon to stiffen and utter a low cry.

Aziraphale hastily planted his hands on Crowley's waist, pushing him back to a reasonable distance, " _Crowley,_ " Aziraphale said his name as sternly as he could make his voice get. Crowley had the good grace to look embarrassed.

"I'm burning up, angel," Crowley admitted, his wings rustling overhead, one sliding down the side of the chair, "I don't want any of the…" he made a vague gesture at their crotches to indicate the sexual organs, "But I've never….peaked without. I don't know how it works."

Everything in Aziraphale's chest melted into something squidgy and pink. "Oh," he replied. What else to say to that? He leaned in to give Crowley a small, chaste kiss. Because he loved this demon so dearly.

"Would you like me to teach you?"

" _Please._ " Crowley's voice was low and raw and Aziraphale shuddered to hear it, folding Crowley close again.

Aziraphale started by smoothing his palms over the outsides of Crowley's wings, feeling them shift and twitch into his touch. Crowley shuddered and trembled. He was on the right track.

Aziraphale kept gently petting until Crowley stopped trembling and relaxed into him with a sigh. Then he gently scratched through the tender feathers, the tension in Crowley's bony body racheting up again. Aziraphale kept doing it until Crowley got used to it again. In this way, Aziraphale slowly, gently worked his way to more and more sensitive parts of Crowley's wings, repetitive soothing motions changing to something more stimulating before moving on. Outsides of the wings, tops of them, insides, until Aziraphale could finally touch the bases of Crowley's wings.

Crowley let out a low, liquid moan, followed by eager squirming. "Angel, please."

Aziraphale gently shushed Crowley, his nails lightly digging into the muscle and making Crowley cry out again. Aziraphale kissed his ear and kept at it. Crowley panted and whined, gasping wordlessly into Aziraphale's ear. When he began to make frustrated noises, Aziraphale left off his wings to drag his nails over Crowley's shoulderblades.

That was what did it, and Crowley's voice broke as he reached his peak in Aziraphale's lap. It was _distressingly_ exciting, and Aziraphale patiently waited for Crowley to calm down. It was rude to be too impatient, after all.

"When you're ready," he primly said, when Crowley's breathing had come back to something resembling normal, "I might like-- _oh._ Oh, Crowley." He had to stop, because Crowley's fingers had tangled into his hair. Which wasn't the important thing, but was the conduit to what was.

The important thing was that Crowley was sharing his impressions of the last God-only-knew-how-many hours. It wasn't just his thoughts, though Aziraphale got some sense of those. No, it was the sensations, the physical and emotional. Aziraphale had a great deal more experience with corporeal sensation, so he wasn't as overwhelmed by it. He usually shared this with Crowley, when necessary.

The reverse was incredible. Crowley was so new to how sensitive his wings could be, he trusted Aziraphale so completely, so thoroughly enjoyed the softness and warmth of Aziraphale's body under his.

And Crowley put all of it on fast-forward.

In a matter of minutes, Aziraphale experienced sensations that had built for hours in Crowley. He may have shouted rather loudly towards the end, but Crowley didn't seem to mind. The whole thing left Aziraphale feeling a bit shattered, weak as a babe, and he slumped back in his chair, trembling and panting himself.

They must have slept, because the next thing Aziraphale knew, Crowley was groaning about cramps in his wing as he stood up. Aziraphale was, personally, ravenous, but he just watched Crowley stretch and complain, feeling languid and soppy amounts of in love.

When Crowley noticed Aziraphale staring, he shook his head in amusement, "Don't look at me like that, you old fool."

"I shall look at you anyway I choose, demon. Help me up."

Aziraphale held out his hands, which Crowley obligingly took, leaning back to brace against Aziraphale's greater weight before encircling them both with his wings.

"You've done a terrible thing, angel." Crowley informed Aziraphale, pressing their foreheads together.

He nuzzled his nose into Crowley's, refusing to take this seriously, "Mm?"

"I shall never be the same."

"Mm-hm."

Crowley chuckled from a breath away, "I suppose I shall have to feed you for a coherent response, shan't I?"

"You're being ridiculous and I refuse to dignify it with a response," Aziraphale primly replied, his lips brushing Crowley's.

Crowley kissed him then, fiercely. Aziraphale accepted it for the declaration of love it was.


End file.
